Authors: Unknown Author
Untitled (7 page)
"And the mismatched socks look divine with the black wing-tip shoes." Then Evvie relents. "I do feel sorry for him. He seems so lonely under all that bad taste."
Now the girls arrive with their books and dump them into my trunk, as well. We have to wait a few moments for Sophie to finish the last few pages of one of her novels. Then, done, she sighs, closes the book, and tosses it in the trunk with the others. "That was so satisfying," she says.
Bella looks at her, puzzled. "Since when do you read the last page? You always read that first. So you know how it's going to end."
Ida sneers at her. "I never heard of anyone who reads the last page of a book first. Only you."
"What's so hard to understand? What if I die before the book ends? Then I'll never know what happened."
Ida throws up her hands, showing her disgust. "I give up. You're hopeless."
The books delivered, they take off for their mah-jongg game. Evvie leaves, as well, to polish her movie review. None of them ever wants to go to the library with me. And that's just fine. I enjoy this time on my own.
I am about to get into the car when Hy Binder sidles up and pokes his face next to mine.
"Hey, didja hear this one?" He never pauses to take a breath, so there's no stopping him. "How can a guy tell if his wife is dead?"
"I really don't need to know, Hy," I say.
"The sex is the same but the dishes pile up!" He guffaws.
Lola, standing off to one side, carrying her dry cleaning, calls out to him. "Tell her already."
"Yeah, didja hear? Peeping Tom in Phase Five!"
At the expression of surprise on my face, Hy grins. "Gotcha!"
My book bags are dragging my shoulders down as I lug them to the entrance of the Lauderdale Lakes library, one of my favorite places. It is a small brick building in a residential section. This branch is very bright and inviting. It is my weekly job to return all our finished books and to choose new ones.
In the good old days, three months ago, pre-P.I. biz, I was the only mystery reader. The girls adored romance novels, modern novels, and anything about Hollywood stars. But now it's only mysteries, except for Ida, of course, who always has to be different. The girls feel these are their textbooks on crime. Besides, they like being scared.
Roly-poly Conchetta Aguilar became my good friend years ago, after discovering that I had been a librarian, too. Her assistant, young Barney Schwartz, loves to hear the gossip and stories I tell about those wacky characters I live with. His favorite was always crazy Greta Kronk, who raided our Dumpsters at night and wrote odd poems and made sketches of everyone. Poor Greta, who no longer is with us.
The library is quiet right now, and we sit at one of the tables peacefully enjoying Conchetta's wonderful strong Cuban coffee as we gossip. "So, what's the latest word?" Barney asks, eager to relish a new story.
"You want a word? I'll give you a word. How about—
sex!
"
sex!
"
That was a surprise. For me, too. I didn't know I was going to say that.
"In your senior world? At your age?" tut-tuts the cheerful, thirtyish Conchetta. "Aha. The girls must still be spying on you."
"More than ever. Jack thinks it's amusing and I can't stop blushing."
"You're blushing right now," Barney says impishly.
And my cheeks feel warm enough for me to know I am. "Not only are the girls glued to
Sex
and the City
reruns, they try out the smutty language on one another."
Sex
and the City
reruns, they try out the smutty language on one another."
"I can just imagine." Conchetta grins as she refills my cup.
"Then there's our new case. An elderly Italian couple from Plantation. She's eighty-two and he's eighty-five and she thinks we're going to catch her husband in bed with some floozy."
"Delicious," says Barney, "considering that my folks are much younger and they haven't looked at one another in years. And neither one cares."
"I can relate to Gladdy. My mom and aunts are drooling over the actor Chayanne, after they saw that sexy dance movie about Cuba," says Conchetta. "I tell them Chayanne's a Puerto Rican, but they don't believe me. He played a Cuban so he must be one. Hollywood wouldn't lie."
"And to continue my sordid list," I say, "what about Hy Binder's nonstop dirty jokes? I wish everybody would just grow up."
"Must be something in the water at Lanai Gardens," Conchetta suggests slyly.
"Or maybe our local Publix supermarket is putting aphrodisiacs into everyone's hamburger patties," suggests Barney.
"And wait 'til you read Evvie's latest movie review, which comes out tomorrow."
"Wouldn't miss it," says Barney. "She can put an unusual spin on anything. Pauline Kael would have loved her."
"She dragged us all to see a terrifying French movie about sexual obsession."
"Now I really can't wait to read it," Barney says with a leer.
"But here's the topper. Just as I was about to drive off, I learned we have a Peeping Tom on the premises. What the hell is going on?"
We are still laughing when the front door opens to admit a vanload of talkative seniors from a nearby retirement home, carrying books to return and eager to get more.
Conchetta and Barney go back to work while I pick out new titles for my gang.
I have Carl Hiaasen's
Skinny Dip
in my hand when I suddenly get an idea. I drop it in my book bag and head for the newspapers section in an adjoining room.
Skinny Dip
in my hand when I suddenly get an idea. I drop it in my book bag and head for the newspapers section in an adjoining room.
On a hunch I look up the obituaries of those two rich women who died. Thinking about the twenty-five-wealthiest-women list losing two members less than a week apart gets me wondering.
I have the library table covered with newspapers, and I'm searching for articles about the dead heiresses, when Conchetta walks over and clucks at me. She takes my arm, pulling me out of my chair and over to a small machine. "You're going to join the twenty-first century whether you like it or not."
"Yeah. Kicking and screaming. You're as bad as Jack."
"It's been a while since you retired from library work. Let me introduce you to microfiche."
And within moments I am happily knobturning, scanning article after article about the two women. Finally I lean back, sated.
"Now, was that so hard to take?"
"OK. OK, I loved it, but don't you dare tell Jack I said that."
"Scout's honor. What did you learn?"
"More coincidences. Both widowed from very wealthy husbands a few years ago and both remarried fairly soon after. Also, these society gals are in the papers and magazines whatever they do. Charities. Vacations. Parties. Family statistics—births, deaths, et cetera. When they sneeze it makes the news."
"But?"
"There's hardly anything written about their latest husbands. No big write-ups about the nuptials. No fancy wedding photos. Mr. Sampson was in plumbing. Mr. Martinson was in the entertainment business. Was. But are they still?
Nada.
Isn't that odd? As if there were a news blackout covering the second-time-around hubbies."
Nada.
Isn't that odd? As if there were a news blackout covering the second-time-around hubbies."
"And what do you make of all that?"
"Nothing yet."
I look at my watch. "Gotta go or, God forbid, I'll be late for the early-bird special at Nona's."
Conchetta walks with me to the checkout counter and stamps my books. "You might need a textbook," she says as she reaches under the counter. "I picked this out for you a few minutes ago."
She surreptitiously hands me a copy of the
Kama Sutra.
Kama Sutra.
12
The Men in My Life
I
'm about to leave my apartment on my way to meet Jack and Morrie for our Friday night dinner date, when the phone rings. One of the girls? A possible client? I could let it ring. I now have an answering machine, thanks to Jack's persuasiveness. "It's so simple an idiot could work it" was what he said to convince me. I didn't know whether to smack him or kiss him. I did a little of both.
'm about to leave my apartment on my way to meet Jack and Morrie for our Friday night dinner date, when the phone rings. One of the girls? A possible client? I could let it ring. I now have an answering machine, thanks to Jack's persuasiveness. "It's so simple an idiot could work it" was what he said to convince me. I didn't know whether to smack him or kiss him. I did a little of both.
I grab the phone before the machine picks up. Old habits die hard.
It's our client calling. "Hi, Mrs. Siciliano."
"Any news?"
"Not yet. I told you I'd get in touch with you as soon as something developed."
"Don't you think I know that?" Mrs. Siciliano humphs.
I think to myself, This Angelina is one tough cookie. Of course I don't use her first name when I talk to her. She's not much into familiarity.
"I just called to tell you you're off duty for a while. My cousin died, and me and Elio are leaving for the wake and the funeral. We'll be gone a coupla days. So if you stake him out, you're staking for nothing."
"Thanks for letting me know. I'm sorry about your loss—" I start to say.
But she's already hung up.
Morrie has been entertaining us with stories from the recently built police station on Oakland Park Boulevard as he, Jack, and I share sushi in a charming Japanese restaurant in Margate.
"So we drag him into the station—the guy's just robbed his own neighborhood bank, where everybody knows him, and all he wants to talk about is redecorating our building. 'Who picked out this pissant wall color? A blind guy?' he demands to know, this Martha Stewart of stupid thieves. Maybe he'd like us to decorate the walls with the hundred-dollar bills we found stashed all over his body?"
I look from father to son. Morrie is sitting across from me. Now I know what Jack looked like when he was in his thirties. When he married Faye and had this lovely son. Lucky Morrie—if he continues to take after his dad, he'll be just as attractive a man at Jack's age.
Jack is laughing at this wry account. Over the years Morrie must have shared a lot of war stories with him.
"Hey, Dad," he says, "tell her about the time you captured that crazy doper who locked his pals in a basement for a week when he was high because he thought they were aliens from outer space."
Jack starts to fidget. I see him making hand motions at Morrie under the table, but Morrie isn't picking up on them.
Morrie continues. "When Dad caught up with that nutcase, he ran to hide in a shower, turned it on full blast, and the only way Dad could cuff him was to get in the shower with him."
He swats his father playfully. "And what about that extortionist you had to chase driving up Fifth Avenue opposite the one-way traffic?"
"Morrie, eat your miso soup, it's getting cold," Jack says, obviously trying to stop him.
"Hold on," I say. "What's this? You were a cop?"
"Of course he was," says the proud son. "One of the best detectives the NYPD ever had."
"I thought you told me you had a desk job in Administration."
"I did, for my last ten years," Jack says, embarrassed.
"You said all you did was take information."
"Yes, that, too."
Morrie chimes in, "Yeah, in a lot of sweaty interrogation rooms."
"Jack, why didn't you tell me you were a detective?"
"Well," he says uncomfortably, "you had just become a successful private eye, and I didn't want to steal your thunder."
"I can't believe you lied to me."
"Not a lie, a slight exaggeration. It's not easy telling people you're a cop. Do you have any idea what they do when they find out? There's always one joker who's going to ask, 'How many people did you beat up today?' "
Morrie joins in. "Or 'Does it give you a thrill to carry a gun?' That's what all the gals want to know."
"It makes you gun-shy," Jack says, "and excuse the pun."
I give Jack a look that says we're going to talk more about this "slight exaggeration" later. He smiles and shrugs.
Morrie easily leans over the table and gives me a friendly peck on the forehead. "I've been very self-involved here. Your turn. What's the Gladdy Gold Detective Agency been up to?"
"Oh, nothing much." I dip my dragon roll into the soy sauce, dropping half the rice off my chopsticks as I do.
"Don't be modest. I saw you on TV. You're a celebrity now. Cases must be flooding in."
"Well, the girls and I are on a stakeout. Cheating hubby, you know how that is."
"Stakeouts are a drag. All that sitting and waiting."
"Yeah," I say, one tough comrade to another. "How do you handle the boredom?"
"I do a lot of thinking. Try not to crave the coffee I want but don't dare drink. Go over notes of the case. Think about all the things I'm doing wrong in my love life."
We all smile at that.
"I, on the other hand, can do no thinking. I'm stuck listening to the girls shriek at one another as they play cards in the dark. As they rustle sandwich bags and continuously eat. As they
kvetch
about everything."
kvetch
about everything."
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